


Why John Watson Became a Doctor.

by TheZeroMoment



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZeroMoment/pseuds/TheZeroMoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4:24pm<br/>Sherlock please, this is stupid and immature. –JW</p><p>4:30pm<br/>Aren’t you going to reply? –JW</p><p>And now it was exam season and Sherlock was going through withdrawal and Sherlock wasn’t answering John’s messages. <br/>You should probably get by now why he was freaking out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why John Watson Became a Doctor.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how drugs work and I'm sorry if I get anything wrong. Please correct me if something is horrendously wrong.
> 
> I don't own anything really.. which is sort of sad.
> 
> You can find me at littlepurpleduckling.tumblr.com if you wish to stalk me there.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!

_4:24pm  
Sherlock please, this is stupid and immature. –JW_

_4:30pm  
Aren’t you going to reply? –JW_

Sherlock wasn’t answering John’s messages.

_4:34  
Look, I’m sorry. Please reply. –JW_

John was freaking out a little by now, obviously, Sherlock was in the middle of a bad bout of cravings and he wasn’t replying to John. When John had found out about the drugs he punched Sherlock square in the face before pulling him into a bone crushing hug. John made Sherlock swear to give up cocaine, and now it was exam season and Sherlock was going through withdrawal and _Sherlock wasn’t answering John’s messages._

_4:38  
Sherlock…. Please. –JW_

You should probably get by now why he was freaking out.

_4:43  
For gods sake, reply, you idiot. –JW_

It didn’t help either, John assumed, that they were sort of fighting, yes, about the drugs. And also because of John’s tendencies to go out on the weekends and get pissed drunk for no apparent reason.

_4:46  
Sherlock. –JW_

They both had major issues, but John loved Sherlock, he just knew he would never return the feelings.

_4:50  
I’m coming over.  –JW_

John pocketed his phone and yanked on his jacket. He knew Sherlock, he always replied to texts. If he wasn’t then there must be something seriously wrong. John bolted out of his room in his cramped flat and down the hallway. His flatmate, Mike Stamford emerged from the kitchen carrying a cup of tea.

‘Where are you off to then?’ He asked.

‘Sherlock’s, he’s not replying to me.’ 

‘You two are never apart, people say you’re fucking.’

‘We are NOT fucking.’ John replied, his cheeks turning pink.

‘Yeah, right.’ Mike smirked, turning to walk to his room.

‘I’ll see you later!’ John shouted as he walked out of the door, and as soon as the door shut, he ran down the stairs at the side of the building and out onto the street. Jogging though the crowds, he made it to Sherlock’s flat in record time.

Letting himself slow down, John walked into the building. It was eerily quiet, the sun shining through the glass panes in the door, making the floating dust glitter. Walking forward and up the stairs, deliberately skipping over the squeaky one, John made it to the entrance of the flat. He knocked.

‘Sherlock?’

No response.

John tried the door, twisting the knob, and it swung open. The living room was chaotic, like it normally was, but there was something different. Sherlock’s papers and books were strewn around, thrown all over the floor, when they were usually stacked carefully. Billy, Sherlock’s skull was under the table on his side. 

‘Sherlock,’ John said again, ‘Where are you?’

Again, there was no response, and John swore under his breath, frustrated being an understatement.

John crept down the hallway, mindful of the creaky plank in the flooring, only from experience, John knew to keep quiet while in Sherlock’s flat, especially when he had no clue what was going on. He remembers when he found Sherlock’s landlady duct taped to a chair after class one day. _That_ was a weird weekend.

John approached the door to Sherlock’s bedroom cautiously, it was closed which was slightly suspicious in itself. Knocking lightly on the wood sounded hollow.

‘Sherlock? Are you in there?’ No reply. Again.

Pushing the door open, John froze when he saw Sherlock.

He was slumped against his double bed, white shirt unbuttoned to expose a pale chest. A brown belt was tight around his upper arm, making the veins pop. About four syringes were littered around him, one was gripped tightly in his hand. Sherlock’s eyelids were fluttering and he was shaking.

 _‘Oh shit,’_  John swore, rushing forward and dropping to his knees beside Sherlock. He prised the syringe from Sherlock’s fingers and took Sherlock’s face in his hands. ‘Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?’ He looked into Sherlock’s flickering eyes and his face sunk into a grotesque sort of grin. ‘Jesus, Sherlock. What have you done? Listen, I need to know what you have taken.’

‘I....’ Sherlock was slurring. ‘It’s all siiilent,’ He giggled softly. John propped Sherlock’s jaw up with one hand and fished in his pocket for his phone. He dialled 999 with one hand and pressed the phone to his ear. Sherlock’s eyes were shutting now,

‘No no no, Sherlock, listen to me, you have to stay awake, okay buddy? Please.’ The phone was picked up on the other side.

‘999 What’s your emergency?’ the lady on the other side of the telephone drawled.

‘Um, My friend, he-‘ Sherlock slid further down, shaking more violently now. ‘He’s overdosed, I don’t know what he’s taken, he can’t tell me, he’s shaking and he’s not responding...’

‘Where are you?’

‘The address is 221b Baker Street, please hurry.’

‘An ambulance is on its way.’ The woman hung up and John dropped the phone immediately.

He gently held Sherlock up, pulling him onto his lap and holding him to control the shaking. He could tell Sherlock was beginning to go unconscious.

‘Stay with me, Sherlock, please,’ John was panicking, it was something he’d never really felt. It burned in his bones, twisting his stomach and making him shudder. Sherlock was gasping at the air and John’s tears blurred his vision. He didn’t remember how long he clung to Sherlock before the ambulance arrived, but when it did, he wouldn’t let him go.

John clung to Sherlock’s hand as they travelled, the two serious looking men in scrubs fixing an oxygen mask to Sherlock’s face and trying to keep him breathing.

When they got to the hospital, they didn’t allow John in the room they put Sherlock in as they pumped whatever they pumped into him to reduce the effect of the drugs, while John called Mycroft and told him what happened. He arrived ten minutes later, worried looking and demanding they both see Sherlock. He was thankful, at this point, that Mycroft was so official, because they were shuffled into the small room after about twenty minutes.

John would never forget how pale and tiny Sherlock looked in the white room with the blue curtains and fake flowers on the bedside cabinet. He was so obviously too thin and he looked even worse hooked up to all the machines. John sank into the chair next to him and held his hand and sobbed while Mycroft waited outside.

‘You fucking idiot Sherlock, I can’t believe this... You promised me.’ He rambled on and on, saying how sorry he was and how he would never let this happen again.

Sherlock didn’t wake up for two days, but when he did, John cried tears of joy and kissed Sherlock’s full, pale lips.

The day Sherlock woke up, was the day John signed up for a training course in medicine.

 

                                                                                                                 


End file.
